


like a bad day that never ends

by weatheredlaw



Series: radio edit [7]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Baggage, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Language, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2376032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when it's just this, Grif forgets all the ways he's bad for Tucker and remembers all the ways Tucker is good for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a bad day that never ends

**Author's Note:**

> this series is finally starting to wrap up! enjoy some emotional baggage circa dexter grif.

It's the third time this week that Grif's woken up at Tucker's place, and he's pretty sure he's going to do it again tomorrow. Tucker is still sleeping, absolutely refusing to wake up if it's before nine on a Saturday, so Grif rolls carefully out of bed and looks for a shirt. The last time he was with someone, he wouldn't let himself sleep over more than once a week. That was the rule -- Grif isn't sure when Tucker became so different.

No, that's a lie. He knows the exact moment when Tucker became the exception to all his rules, and it happened a lot quicker than Grif thought it would. 

He pads into the kitchen, looking for something to cook. Their work from the night before is still on the table -- the business plan Simmons brought over, the specs for the building, the paperwork they need to bring to the bank. Sarge said he knew someone who would meet with them, actually _listen_ to them this time. Doesn't mean Grif isn't nervous as hell about it, or that he thinks it'll all go the same way it did before. But having Tucker doing this whole thing _with_ him -- it makes Grif feel a little bit better about it.

Only a little.

They'd stayed up working until three in the morning, so Simmons is crashed on the couch, groping along the coffee table for his phone. Grif hands him a cup of coffee. "Morning, sunshine."

"S'early."

"It's after eight."

"Fuck, man." Simmons sits up, blankets twisting around his waist as he reaches out for the mug. Grif shakes his head. "Tucker still asleep?"

"It's the weekend. He'll sleep until noon if I let him." Simmons huffs a laugh and blows steam away from his face. "This is a lot of work."

"Yeah. Worth it, though. I think." Simmons cranes his neck, twisting the sleep out of his muscles. "You gotta admit, it's pretty cool Tucker's being so supportive." Grif nods, because he's supposed to when people talk about his boyfriend so nicely, and Simmons is probably too tired to see through the bullshit. "Hey, I'm gonna get out of here. Me and Sarge are doing that birthday party at noon. Sure you don't wanna help?"

"I'm good. Haven't had a Saturday off in a while." 

Simmons nods and hands him back to coffee, getting up to look for his jeans. Grif's known him for years, ever since he moved back to the states from Paris, from those disastrous years spent in cooking school, where he came out knowing more about food and men than he'd really wanted to. Simmons had been applying for the same job as Grif, and the restaurant manager had told them both they could forget about the job, that it was for experienced cooks only, just like every other position they'd tried to get. They found Sarge at the same time, had each other's backs ever since. Simmons is the best friend he has, the one who sees through Grif's shit and doesn't bother to tread lightly when he's in a bad mood. He knows what makes him tick, what he's really passionate about. 

So it doesn't surprise him that Simmons is excited about this. Why shouldn't he be? They're both getting what they've wanted.

That's how this works. That's how it's supposed to work. You live long enough to get the thing you want most, be with the person who wants you back like no one else does.

Right?

 

 

 

Tucker wanders into the kitchen not long after Simmons leaves, looking mad at himself that he's woken up at eight-thirty. 

"Coffee," he mutters, and Grif hands it to him, ignores the electric brush of fingers. Tucker does things to him that he doesn't like talking about. Feelings that he would rather just leave where they lie, go through the rest of his life doing only what's necessary to keep this thing breathing for as long as it can. Tucker talks a lot now about forever, and Grif can see it happening. 

But Tucker hasn't figured out what everyone else has -- that Grif is a screw-up, a literal pile of human garbage, left to rot in the heat of the summer. That the things he touches eventually wither and die. That Tucker should go before this becomes something big and bad and awful. 

"Shit, we were up late."

Grif laughs, pushing the feeling down and away and following Tucker into the living room. "No rest for the wicked."

"I could show you wicked," Tucker says, eyebrows telegraphing practically off his head.

"God, it's early. It's _so early_ , how are you like this?" Grif laughs and lets Tucker skirt his hands under his shirt, kiss him long and slow, push fabric away from his collarbone to bite and bruise. It's a good feeling, it's the kind of feeling he hasn't had in a long while, and even though it's really a _Feeling_ , and a lot of them, Grif knows he shouldn't get too attached.

Which he should have thought about earlier, before he realized he was in love, that Tucker could really be it. 

"We should go out tonight." Tucker has abandoned his coffee, opting instead to drag his hand over the steadily growing bulge in Grif's boxers, grinning against his neck. 

" _Fuck_."

"Hmm?"

"Yeah whatever, just--" 

Sometimes, when it's just this, Grif forgets all the ways he's bad for Tucker and remembers all the ways Tucker is good for him. 

 

 

 

On Tuesday, Grif and Simmons go to the bank. Tucker had tried to get a couple hours off, but there'd been a minor explosion in someone's office when one of the secretaries in the small claims court had dumped her coffee right into a fax machine, and he couldn't make it. 

**tucker:** i'm gonna murder someone  
 **grif:** please don't i told my mother i would never date a felon  
 **tucker:** oh i didn't tell you?  
 **grif:** get the fuck back to work 

The loan officer is an old friend of Sarge, a war buddy from the looks of it. He's dressed more like a guide for the fish and wildlife department than anything else, and smells like Old Spice and chewing tobacco. There's nothing interesting or remarkably pleasant about his office, which makes him a perfect friend for Sarge. 

"Heard you boys wanted a business loan."

"Yes, sir," Grif says, because he figures he should probably say that. Simmons is rifling through a folder, getting out their plans. The man holds his hand up.

"Save it. I'm more'n happy to give you fellas the money, that's no problem for me. But I looked into you both and your credit scores don't leave a whole lot to be desired."

Great. More adulting. Grif hates adulting.

"What does that mean for us?"

"Look, unless you boys want an interest rate through the roof, you're gonna need someone else to cosign who's got a decent credit score. I don't wanna screw you two over, because your boss is a good friend of mine, and I owe him big time. Said I'd take of this for him, and I'd like to. But I ain't gonna do my job the wrong way." 

Simmons nods. "Of course, we completely understand."

Grif wants to flip a table over and shout, _No we do not_ , but Simmons is already making some notes in his legal pad, jotting down some number the loan officer gives them, and thanking him for his time. Grif remains in his seat. "If we get a cosigner though, we can get the money."

"Sure can."

"You don't want to see the business plan."

"You're gonna be cookin' food, right? I think I know enough about how that nonsense works."

"Okay, right. But do you--"

"Son, I ain't got all day to listen to your emotional baggage or whatever it is you're wrestlin' with in that head of yours. So why don't you and your buddy take what I gave you, and come back to me when you got someone else to help you out. That's all I can do for you today." 

"Grif, _let's go._ " Simmons tugs on his shoulder and Grif finally relents, getting up and heading out of the office. Simmons gives him a shove when they get outside. "What the fuck was that about?"

"He's just gonna say yes? Just like that?"

"Yes, Grif, sometimes that happens."

"I don't know. Doesn't it seem weird? It seems weird to me."

Simmons rolls his eyes. "Please don't start this. We got rejected by the bank _once_. You were the one who never wanted to try again. We just need to find someone we trust who's gonna be there with us. Someone who'll help us out, maybe. Ask Tucker, he's--"

"I'm not asking Tucker," Grif interrupts, quicker than he meant to. The idea had definitely occurred to him, but he shut it down before it could blossom into something he'd regret later. 

" _Okay._ " Simmons looks like he's not quite ready to touch that one. "Well, we can ask Sarge, maybe. Or your mom, if she'd want to. My mom wouldn't really consider it, I don't think, but I'll call her tonight." Simmons tosses the stuff into the backseat of his car and goes around to the other side. "Maybe just think about asking Tucker. That's all I'm asking." 

Grif gets into the passenger seat and leans it back, staring out the window as Simmons pulls out of his parking spot. His phone buzzes gently in his pocket, but he ignores it. He'll talk to Tucker or his sister or whoever later, when he's up for it. Right now, he just wants to sleep a little longer, maybe crash at Tucker's place and wait for him to get home.

Simmons drops him off there without even asking, and Grif decides not to think much about it.

When Tucker gets home later, he's tense and angry and annoyed and smells a little bit like smoke, the sleeve of one of his work shirts singed. "I can't. I literally can't."

"Noted. Sit down, I made dinner."

"Why did I go to college? Why did I do this?" 

"Because you're passionate about IT."

"I'm passionate about whatever's in the oven."

"Bruschetta. Sit _down_ and stop pacing, you're making me nervous."

Tucker sighs and settles heavily at one of the kitchen chairs, putting his face in his hands. "How'd the bank go?"

"Not bad." 

"Yeah?" He looks through his fingers, grinning. "Like, how good is _not bad_?"

"They still need to look at some of our numbers, but we should be able to get it." Grif doesn't know why he's lying. 

No. He does. He's lying because he knows if he asks Tucker to help him, he will. Tucker will do absolutely anything for him in a heartbeat, and Grif knows he'd do the same for him. 

He just doesn't know what all of that _means_ outside of just loving Tucker. Because that isn't enough. To just be in love, to love someone _back_ , with the same ferocity as they love you -- it doesn't make things last forever. So Grif lies, because he isn't ready to do this yet. 

Tucker gets up and presses Grif against the counter, kissing him expansively, like it's a fucking _luxury_. Grif moans into his mouth and fumbles his hand against the oven, turning it off as Tucker gets down on his knees, undoing Grif's belt as he goes. Just loving him back isn't enough, but sometimes it feels like it might be, against the most impossible odds. 

 

 

 

 **sis:** dude i gotta tell you something  
 **grif:** getting laid soon, it can wait  
 **sis:** okay but like soon i gotta tell you a thing soon  
 **grif:** text you later

 

 

 

"I think you should ask Tucker."

Grif is carefully piping red pepper sauce onto plates of salmon, while Simmons follows him up with the last bit of garnish. "Dude, you're gonna break my concentration."

"They look fine. But I'm serious."

"I already told you. I'm not gonna do that."

"You didn't tell him we needed a cosigner, did you?"

Grif finishes the last two plates and looks up, sighing. "No, Simmons. I didn't. I don't really see why I should have to, since I'm not gonna ask him."

"He's your boyfriend, and he's gonna be with you through this. He should know."

"Yeah, sure, we're dating. But you don't know he'll be there through the whole thing. _Donut!_ These needed to be out there yesterday!" Donut hustles in and pushes the cart of fish out the doors, and Simmons just stands in the middle of the kitchen, staring. " _What?_ "

"Are you guys not doing okay?"

"What? No, everything's great."

"So why wouldn't he be there?"

"Shit happens, man."

"You told him you love him."

"I did, and you know what? I'm starting to wish I hadn't mentioned that to you." He brings it up _all the time_ , and it's starting to drive Grif fucking crazy. "Man, will you just lay off? And answer your fucking text messages, it's been going off for ten minutes. Who the fuck wants to talk to you so bad anyway?"

Simmons' neck suddenly goes beet red and Grif watches him practically dive bomb for his phone. "It's just, uh. You know. It's--"

"Are you seeing someone?"

"It's complicated," Simmons mutters, tucking the phone into his pocket.

"Who is she?"

"It's not anything official right now."

"Dude, come on. We talk about my feelings _all the time_ \--"

"Because you're emotionally constipated," Simmons says, brushing him off and starting to work on the dessert plates. "I, on the other hand, am more than capable of processing my feelings like a grownup."

"I'm a grownup," Grif says hotly. He's more hurt than he thought he could be that Simmons doesn't want to talk about girls with him at this juncture in their friendship. "Come on, just tell me her name."

"No. Now stop whining and finish making the ganache."

Grif huffs, glad the conversation has drifted away from the inevitable demise of his relationship with Tucker, to say the least. Because that's where it's headed, and Simmons has known Grif long enough to understand that, at least. 

Simmons has known Grif long enough to push him, though. Long enough to call bullshit on all the crap he's pulled, all the lies he's told, to everyone and himself. He finally looks up when the dinner is over, arms folded across his chest. "I know this is hard for you. I get it. I've been here with you for all these years and I _know_ that you used to want something else. Don't you think you should give someone a chance to give you that? Instead of acting like they'll never want the same thing?"

"This stuff doesn't last forever," Grif says quietly. "It's not supposed to."

Simmons laughs, shaking his dead. "Man, that's the thing though. It _is._ "

 

 

 

Grif gets back home late -- and he won't process what it means that Tucker's place is as much _home_ as his own -- but Tucker is still up. He's working on something in the living room for work, pen between his teeth as he scowls at whatever he's writing. "Fuckin' -- oh good, you're back. I can stop pretending to enjoy this."

"Why are you still up?"

"Couldn't sleep. Might use one of my sick days tomorrow, I don't fuckin' know." Tucker stretches and picks everything up, bringing it to the kitchen table. "How was the party?"

"Decent. Sarge wanted to know if you'd help with something next Sunday."

"Sure thing." Tucker heads back to the couch and pulls Grif in with him. Simmons's words are still ringing in his head, and he wishes this wasn't so comfortable, the steady push and pull between them. Grif remembers that he was the one who was so suggestive, so many months ago, but in his defense, he didn't know it would go this far. 

Tucker didn't seem like the kind of guy he could fall for, even though Grif understands now, more than ever, exactly why he was wrong.

"We need a cosigner for the loan," he finally admits. Tucker's head is in his lap, now, when he looks up at him.

"Yeah?" Grif nods. "I could do that. My credit's pretty good."

"I couldn't ask you to."

Tucker laughs. "Dude, you don't have to _ask_. I'll do it, no question."

"That's not...I don't know." Tucker sits up. "I don't think I could ask you. To do that."

"Why not?"

"It's...it's a lot of money, Tucker."

"Dude, I know how loans work. You're not borrowing lunch money." Tucker folds his legs under him, still smiling, still not really understanding. "We'll make it work, it's not a big deal. I'm here for this."

Grif shakes his head. "No, I know. But...but it's just. It's a lot. A _lot_ of money if we..." Fuck, finishing this sentence is hard. It's really, really hard. Tucker pulls back a little, his expression souring. Grif wishes he hadn't been the one to make him look like that.

"If we break up."

 _There it is._ "Yeah."

"That's stupid."

"Jesus, Tucker, come on. You wanna be stuck helping me pay back a bunch of money when we're not doing this anymore?"

"What the fuck are you even talking about?" Tucker gets off the couch. "What do you mean _when_? You got some plans I don't know about? Because if you were gonna break up with me, you should have done it before we started this. Fuck, you should have done this _weeks_ ago--"

Grif scowls. "I'm not breaking up with you. Don't be stupid, I just--"

"You're just sitting around, waiting for the fucking other shoe to drop or _whatever_."

" _I am a fuck up!_ In a few months, you'd figure that out and you'd do yourself a favor and fuck off before I had a chance to ruin your life any more than I already have."

"You haven't _ruined_ my life, oh my God." Tucker laughs. "Dude, what is your problem right now?"

Grif's on his feet now, too, trying to hold his own in a fight _he_ picked, with someone he knows he can't win against. "The problem is me. The problem _has always_ been me."

Tucker's shoulders go a little slack and he clenches and unclenches his fists, breathing through his nose. "You can't...you can't just be afraid to do shit with someone because you _think_ it's gonna end the way everything else has. I thought you _wanted_ this."

Grif feels sick in his stomach his voice pleading. "No, I _do_. I just--"

"I need to get out of here."

"Tucker, this is your house."

Tucker turns and opens the door. "Yeah, well, you have a _fucking_ key, don't you?" 

Grif flinches when it shuts. He thinks about running after him. Thinks about calling him. He thinks about staying the night here.

Eventually, he leaves. Eventually, it feels wrong being here. 

Eventually, Grif figures, everything just kind of falls apart. The way it was supposed to. 

Eventually.

 

 

 

The little place they want to buy isn't much. It's a decent size, all the right hookups and everything they'll need. Did need. Won't need anymore because Grif is a colossal screw up with better taste in men than all his boyfriends seem to have. He toes at the sidewalk with his shoe, thinking about what the place would smell like on a Saturday night, imagining the dinner menu for next summer, when they'd probably open. 

"Oh, hi Grif." Grif looks up and Caboose is standing next to him, smiling. He's always smiling. "Is this your place?"

"Uh, no. Not yet."

"Tucker told me about it. It sounds nice." Caboose folds his arms over his chest and looks up, nodding his approval. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Grif sighs and turns toward him. "Playing hooky from work?"

"Yes. I'm going to ask Sheila to marry me."

Grif wishes he knew how to say things as simply as Caboose does. "Whoa, dude. That's really good, congrats to you, too."

Caboose nods. "I haven't asked her yet, but I've got a good present I think."

"Picking out a ring?"

"Nah. I'll let her do that. I'm looking for houses."

"Wow. That's...that's a lot."

"She's my forever person," Caboose says, like this explains everything. "I want her to know I want to spend forever with her. Houses kind of say that, I think. Big stuff says that. Things you do together."

Grif nods. "It's a good idea."

"Well." Caboose looks a little sheepish. "I kinda stole the idea from Tucker."

"You...how?"

He points to the restaurant. "Well. Tucker brought you here, didn't he? You're his forever person. So he showed you something that you guys could do together. Something big and important. To let you know how long he wanted you around."

Grif looks back at the building, remembers standing in front of it for the first time, Tucker's energy alive and in both their hands. He can still feel it, can remember what it was like, standing here and kissing him without hesitation, knowing that Tucker wanted to be with him. 

That had only been a few weeks ago. Why did that feeling seem so far off?

"Anyway." Caboose puts a quick hand on Grif's shoulder. "I need to go meet my real estate agent. I'll see you later?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah definitely. I'll, uh. I'll see you later." Caboose nods and heads off. 

Grif stays behind, feeling small under the shadow of downtown, standing alone in front of his and Tucker's forever.

 

 

 

Despite the fact that Tucker isn't picking up the phone when he calls or texts, Grif still needs to keep working. On Wednesday night, they do an engagement party for a really fucking rich family -- Chilean sea bass, a tower of seafood and some kind of vegetarian sushi roll Donut came up with. Prosecco, grapefruit spritzers, a layered chocolate custard with some kind of brandy cream. The good stuff. They spend _hours_ getting ready, and Grif doesn't think about Tucker or the restaurant or the loan or the fact that Simmons still won't tell him who he's seeing more than, like, five or seven or eleven times but whatever. It's distraction enough, he figures. 

They get a break between dinner and dessert, leaning against the wall behind the ballroom these people rented. Simmons is texting his mystery woman and Grif is feeling a little wicked. 

"Come _on_ , tell me who she is."

"No."

"Aw, come on."

"I said _no._ "

Grif huffs. " _Fine._ But you--" 

Simmons turns and puts his forehead against the wall, squeezing his eyes and shut and muttering something that sounds _suspiciously_ like "dating your sister."

Grif tilts his head. "I'm sorry. Excuse me?"

"I'm, uh. I'm dating your sister. Kinda."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means she didn't want to tell you because she thought you'd freak out and I didn't want to tell you because I thought you'd freak out, but you've been having a bad week and she's been wanting to tell you and you were asking and I know you were just fucking with me, but I needed to tell you because you're my best friend and if I didn't tell you I was--"

Grif kicks him in the shin. In between Simmons swearing and kicking back, Grif manages to say, "If you hurt her, I will fucking end you," and walks back inside. He doesn't feel like actually processing this kind of information, because Kai tried to tell him over a week ago, and he ignored her. And Simmons was acting weird from the start. And he's not even _mad_ , so he doesn't know why he kicked him, or why he's being an ass about this at all. 

It occurs to him that Simmons might be his sister's forever person, which kind of makes him want to throw up in his mouth a little bit. Simmons stumbles in after him. "Are you mad?"

"Fucking, no. Simmons. I'm not mad." 

"Um. Okay. Why are you acting weird?" Grif shrugs. "She wanted to tell you before I did. She's gonna be pissed." 

Grif manages to smile and shakes his head. "Dude, you bought the ticket." 

Simmons rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know." He turns to get the custards out of the fridge. "What about you? You talk to Tucker?"

"He hasn't answered me."

"He's upset."

"I fucking noticed, Simmons. Thanks for that." Grif takes the tray from him and starts plating the desserts. "I don't know. I fucked this up, man. I told you I would."

"Yeah, you usually do when you talk like that." Grif doesn't respond, because he knows it's true. "I'm just saying, if you started looking at your relationships like something good was going to happen, maybe something good would always happen. You were having fun when it started. What changed?"

"Nothing," Grif mutters, because that's the truth. He's just like some kind of decay, something to seeps through everything and rots it all from the inside. "Nothing changed," he says again. 

Simmons is his best friend, so Simmons says exactly what Grif is thinking. "Maybe that's the problem."

 

 

 

Grif gets Caboose to tell him where Tucker's office is, and on Thursday morning, Grif takes the bus to the court house and gets lost four times because Caboose is bad at describing a building where every single floor looks exactly the same. 

Tucker has his own little office, crammed into a corner of the fifth floor. Grif can see him from across the room, his shoulders slouched as he furiously types something, his phone crammed between his ear and his shoulder. There's a pile of chords on his desk, a fax machine in the corner and a computer tower balanced precariously in a chair by the door. Grif knocks and Tucker just waves for him to sit, not looking up until he hangs up the phone, realizing who he just let in. 

They stare at one another for an entire two minutes before Grif says, "I'm sorry."

Tucker scrubs his hands over his face and nods. "Yeah, me too. I should have called you back, fuck. I don't know. I was just--"

"I get it."

"I know you do." 

Grif turns around and shuts the office door, coming back to pull the chair closer to Tucker's side and reaching out to take one of his hands. "I think you're my forever person."

Tucker frowns. "Did you fall and hit your head?"

"No. Well, yes, actually, I slipped in a puddle of Prosecco last night. But I'm serious. You're my forever person."

"Dude. I thought I told you that already."

"You did. I just wasn't paying attention." Grif leans in closer, feeling something sugary sweet blossom on his tongue when Tucker does, too. "I've been doing things the same way for a long time. I poison shit because I think that's what I'm meant to do. You're just the first person to look past that."

"Yeah, that's because I love your sorry ass."

"I want to do this thing with you. I want to do something big and important so you know that I want you around forever."

"You've been talking to Caboose." 

Grif nods. "Yeah, and he's right. Look, I know I'm behind on all this. You already told me that you wanted this to last forever. And I'm sorry I was a dick to you. I'm sorry I lied and I'm sorry I doubted all this. But I'm ready, now. Also Simmons is sleeping with my sister. I just really needed to say that out loud."

"Holy fuck."

"I mean, I think they're, like, full on _dating_."

Tucker pulls back a little. "Dude, what the hell?"

"I'm sorry, I needed to say it out loud." Tucker looks at him for a second, laughter sitting on the edge of his lips before he finally bursts into it, putting his head down on Grif's knees and howling. "You're an asshole, man."

"Fuck. I fucking love you, you know that?" Grif nods, pulling Tucker in to kiss him hard and with great importance and depth -- all those things you kiss a person with when you love them infinitely.

**Author's Note:**

> i had plans to dive into a simmons-focused piece potentially, and after finally finishing this one (it took me the longest idk why) i think i'm actually going to do that, considering i've introduced a new pairing that would feel bad about not exploring a bit. i _should_ do a piece looking at donut, but i'm not the best at working with donut's character, so who knows. but there are, at most, three more parts to this. it ~would be nice to wrap it up with a nice even ten. hmmm....


End file.
